


A Fragment of a Scattered-off Voice

by Bork__Bork



Series: Words, phrases, voices [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dimiclaude Week (Fire Emblem), Fluff, M/M, Nightmares, Pre-Time Skip, brief description of blood/corpses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:53:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22095166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bork__Bork/pseuds/Bork__Bork
Summary: Lately, a warm, tickling voice has been appearing in his dreams, brushing away his fear, his tormentors, his terrors at the last moment.Dimitri relives a nightmare and a soothing voice he is unable to recognize. Claude quite literally tumbles before him, and the faint sparks of a relationship begin to form.For Day 1 of Dimiclaude week 2020: Trust/Dreams/Winter.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Series: Words, phrases, voices [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590385
Comments: 7
Kudos: 63





	A Fragment of a Scattered-off Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately I'm probably not gonna participate much more than this. School is starting :( But happy Dimiclaude week! I'm kind of worried that this is too cheesy, writing just fluff isn't really my thing, but here goes.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

White.

Glittering.

Soft.

“Dima! Come on, over here!”

The snowflakes in the sky blur. With a tilt of his head, he sees a cheery, pale-skinned boy with navy-blue hair waving at him. He runs towards the voice, boots crunching against the snow on the ground. His pleas for him to stop don’t seem to reach the boy, and soon, only a blur of white, blue, and teal is visible. 

“Glenn, wait up!”

The icy wind rushes into his lungs as he huffs and calls for the source of the voice. The further he dashes, the more snowflakes prick at his skin, stinging and infusing their coldness into him. Yet, he presses on. At last, Glenn is closer, more visible. But a strong, wailing gust of wind brushes him away, leaving only a pile of armor behind. Where did he go?

“Here! Look, over here!”

The blonde bangs whip against his eyes as he whirls around. There are only blanket-sheets of white and grey as far as he can see. But then, he feels a tug on his sleeve. 

He spins around. Glenn, now a young adult, is patting his head with a warm smile, pink tickling his cheeks and nose. He points downwards.

They’re on ice.

“Watch me, Dima!”

The blue-haired youth glides around, circling him and weaving patterns into the ice. Around and around, the white streaks blend and curve until two designs appear beneath his feet. 

Lines jutting out in all eight directions and caving inwards—the Blaiddyd crest. A dominant line with spikes wrapping around a loop and a rod—the Fraldarius crest. Each glows with its familiar warmth, filling his world with bright white and blue.

And then they flash deep red.

“Dimitri! Help me!” Glenn cries out.

His legs sweep off the ice, and his arms are sent flailing—a crack of bones ring through his head as the man crashes through the ice, water spilling out of the fractures which he fell into. The flurry of white suddenly freeze midair, and then…

They melt. Red drips fall onto his hands, his clothes, his face, staining everything he sees with crimson. Soon, the ice is washed over with scarlet, and bodies begin to float up and press underneath the icy surface. They’re the corpses of his closest friends, soldiers, and… 

“GLENN!” he screams, rushing towards the mutilated figure bobbing under the ice, but then he slips and collapses on the cold glacier, coughing and choking on smoke he cannot see. Heat flashes before his eyes, and in an instant—the ice shatters underneath.

He is falling. Falling further and further from the white pillar of light above him. Surrounding him are cries and shrieks of familiar voices, brushing against his ears, piercing through his head, latching on to his soul. Each word cuts against his clothing, and soon his garments are filled with icy-hot lacerations and gashes. He looks down at his body, and its bloodied and marred with scars and wounds.

He collides with solid ground. It’s hot. Searing white flames lick around him as he stands up… and there’s a sickening squelch. There’s a body underneath, charred and reeking of burnt flesh. A hand grabs his ankle, digging fingernails into it.

“Please, have mercy!”

Another grabs his arm, searing her name into his skin.

“Mitya, _please._ Gah, the pain! Make the burning stop! Help me... My son…”

Another hand grabs his head, yanking it to face a blonde man, his hair crusted with blood…

_Father._

“Avenge us! Those who killed us… Tear them apart! Destroy them all!”

The man reaches out towards him, straining himself to grasp his hands, but a pile of corpses buries him, preventing him from clasping around his fingers.

“I will… I WILL!” he screams. “So please, don’t worry! I’m sorry, I’ll kill more, I swear it! I’ll pile up more corpses, and then… and then you’ll be safe from the flames, buried for good. You’ll be able to rest in peace. Glenn, Father, Mother, I am here. I won’t forget about you… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

A head tumbles to the ground in front of him. It’s the grotesque face of a nameless bandit he mindlessly plunged his lance into a couple of days ago.

“H-Here,” he clutches the head, offering it in front of his father, his mother, Glenn. “Please, take this! Is this not enough? Is this not enough to satiate you!?”

But the screams and roars only howl even louder, and the tugs at his feet and arms only become more ruthless. In a flash, he is slammed to the ground and— 

“Your Princeliness?”

A flash of feathery white.

* * *

Dark.

Cold.

Soft.

Dimitri hazily emerges from the depths of the red and screams. His head is pulsing, his heart is pounding, his ears are ringing with a dark undercurrent, his breaths are shallow and quick. Cool air brushes past the sweat trickling down his forehead and the wet cloth of the pillow underneath his neck. Cotton sheets are all balled up in his arms, and his eyes groggily open to the pale moonlight trickling in from his window.

He’s back.

Dimitri jerks up, breathing shakily. He pats himself down: no hands at his ankle, no grips around his arms, no burns from the fire, no wounds from the words. He’s safe. He’s at the academy.

He sighs and rubs his eyes as he slips out of his bed. He has to get out, shake free from the remnants of his nightmare. He half-mindedly slips on a warm coat and shoes and pushes his door open, head hung down. His bare feet wobbly step through the hallway as he trudges towards the balcony.

The wooden floor creaks underneath his feet, and the frigid air wraps around him, reminding him that he is here in _this_ world, a peaceful world away from his nightmares, away from the fire and death cries.

_“Your… liness?”_

A fragment of a scattered memory echoes in his mind, and Dimitri immediately latches on to it, holding it close to his heart.

Who’s voice is it?

Lately, it has been appearing in his dreams, brushing away his fear, his tormentors, his terrors at the last moment. It’s a warm, tickling voice. It teases him, but not quite like the way Sylvain does. That voice, it shines with a comfort that he never experienced before. It reaches him in a casual manner as if it sees past his status as the crown prince of Faerghus or the horrific monster he desperately tries to shove down deep inside him. It’s the voice of someone who sees him as an equal: simply just another human.

Usually, Dimitri’s daily routine would pull him further and further away from the memory of his night of restless sleep, and the exact words uttered by that voice would become harder to recall. But right now, only having just woken up, he can grasp some lingering figments of it. 

Who is it?

Soon, the wooden floor pressing against his feet becomes the soft crunch of snow packed on top of cobblestone—he’s outside. The torches’ light spills across the monastery grounds, flickering and bending with the wind, but a faint sliver of blue and yellow in the distant horizon indicates that they will soon need to be put out.

“Hey, Dimitri. Can’t sleep?”

The blonde prince jumps at the sudden call of his name. To the right? His left? Behind? He whirls around desperately trying to find the source of the voice; it has the same tease in it, the same warmth as the one in his dreams.

“Look up, over here.”

Above?

“I shot a couple arrows over with some rope. Probably could’ve just used a ladder, but what’s the fun in that?”

He has to squint against the snow falling onto his face, but he manages to make out a bundle of yellow perched on the roof of the dormitories, cheerfully waving at him. It unwraps itself and stands up, revealing sun-kissed skin and a head tilted with an easygoing smile.

“Watch out, I’m coming down—WHOA!”

A wave of terror washes over Dimitri as he sees the brunette slip and flail his arms about. A memory from his nightmare flashes before his eyes; Glenn slipping and flailing as he crashes through the ice with a sickening crack of bones.

“CLAUDE!”

He rushes towards him instinctively and—

A large weight tumbles into his arms. For a moment, Dimitri breathes a sigh of relief of having safely caught him. But he shifts too much weight on one leg, and he slips. The two collapse onto the ground with a combined yelp. 

Dimitri opens his eyes, and he feels brown curls brushed up against his cheeks. A warm body is pressed against him, his heart pulsing against his chest, his back rising and falling with each breath. Dimitri’s heart is beating double-time now, and he immediately pushes off Claude to get up. 

The brunette groans and hazily stretches his hand upwards, and Dimitri pulls him up to his feet.

“I swear… I saw my life flash before me right there. You saved me, Dimitri,” Claude says hunched over, trying to catch his breath. But he quickly recomposes himself and eases his shoulders back. “Heh, my knight in shining armor. Thanks, I owe you.”

“Claude, this is scarcely the time for jokes,” Dimitri scolds, his eyebrows furrowed out of frustration with Claude’s easiness. “Why did you attempt to leap off like that? What the _hell_ were you even doing up there? You could’ve been seriously injured, or even—”

 _“Could’ve been,”_ the brunette raises his hand as if to stop him. “But I didn’t. That’s all that matters. You were there, and, being the chivalrous noble that you are, I knew that if I jumped, I would’ve either gracefully landed on the ground… or in your arms. Call it… a leap of faith.”

Dimitri chortles at the last phrase, but his hand instinctively flies to cover his mouth and suppress his laugh.

“Heh,” Claude chuckles alongside him. “Your idea of a good sense of humor astounds me sometimes. But I mean what I said. I put my trust in you up there. I was originally going to try to watch the sunrise from the roof. You know, get a new perspective of it. But it’s fine. Besides, _this_ was a much more exhilarating experience. I’d say it was worth it.”

Dimitri only sighs in response. Claude. Claude von Riegan. For being head of the Golden Deer house, the Riegan heir, he is quite an… anomaly. Perhaps not in a bad way, however. He is exceptionally perceptive, witty, intelligent, and skilled in archery. His prowess as a tactician and warrior on the battlefield is nothing to scoff at. _And_ he’s one of the few people that call him simply by his first name, not to mention the _only_ one that is laid back enough to give him ridiculous nicknames, save for Felix’s insults. If anything, he’s a pleasant surprise in his life. An opportunity to reach out for someone beyond his usual Faerghus friends.

“Anyways, why don’t we just forget that ever happened, Your Princeliness? Don’t need Rhea or Seteth to be hounding on me…”

_Your Princeliness…_

The words fill in the gap in Dimitri’s mind, and his eyes widen in realization. That voice in his dreams is…

“You… you’re the one in my dreams!” Dimitri exclaims, interrupting Claude’s rambling. Claude’s arms jump up, surprised by the sudden outburst, but he lets them fall to his side and he gives a roguish smirk.

“I’m the man of your dreams, eh? Awwww, Dimitri, I know I’m a looker, but I didn’t expect you to be so forward about it,” Claude nudges Dimitri in the ribs with his elbow. “I thought it was Miss Princess that you’d be into, but what a twist! I humbly accept your hand. Where do you want to go for our first date, my dear?”

“No! Nononono,” Dimitri waves his hands immediately, rushing to defend himself. “I-I mean, I heard your voice in my dreams. And before you respond, please don’t tease me about the possibility that they are vulgar… dreams.”

“I—” Claude’s automatic quip immediately dies on his tongue. “Oh my sweet summer child, Sylvain and I have teased you too much, haven’t we? But do tell me more. Are they good dreams?”

Dimitri’s breath hitches. A dark undercurrent buzzes in his ears, briefly pulling him down to that horrific world. He goes silent.

“Guess not. Or maybe you just don’t want me to know. Well, as much as I’m curious, your dreams are not for me to pry into—”

“Justice,” Dimitri mutters under his breath. “I… I cannot describe to you what exactly my dreams are about, but at the very least, I’ll trust you with that. I have to enact justice.”

“Ah, seeking revenge. Classic.” Claude narrows his eyes. “So, am I supposed to be helping you avenge someone? Or… is the one you’re seeking revenge against… me?”

Again, Dimitri is unresponsive.

“You know,” Claude sighs. “The dreams of men don’t always amount to much. I suppose some believe that they can be some sort of sign—a prophecy from the Goddess… but there’s no evidence for that. Whatever it is you dream of, you’ll have to do more than simply pray for it to come true. You’ll have to carve your own path. We all have our own ambitions, and a part of life is that they’ll all inevitably part in opposite directions… or clash. And sometimes, one’s life will have to surrender so another’s dreams can be achieved.”

Claude turns to meet Dimitri’s eyes with a pair of glimmering jade-green jewels.

“I like you, Dimitri. You’ve got a good heart. A strong, chivalrous, caring, honest heart. Maybe a little too honest. At any rate, whatever role in your dreams I play in, I hope it can be achieved. But if I sense that it’ll diverge too far from mine, or even trample over it—”

“No!” Dimitri reflexively responds, surprised by how instinctive it felt. He doesn't know where the sudden denial he’s feeling is coming from, but he recalls the warmth with which Claude’s voice shone in his dreams. He has to trust it. He decides to let it guide his thoughts and see where it leads him. 

“No, it’s…” Dimitri pauses for a moment. “I think it’s neither. I-I don’t know where this is coming from, but I feel as though my dreams must intersect with yours, peacefully. I don’t know how… but… perhaps if we got to know each other a little more… we could… figure it out?

“Figure it out, hm? And how do you propose we do that?”

“I…” Dimitri pauses again. No, he can’t hesitate. If this is the person he can trust to brush away his fears, save him from cries of the dead, then he has to be straightforward. “Would… would you like to have tea later? After lunch?”

Claude’s mouth opens and closes, struggling to find a response to the blonde’s sincerity. Seeing Dimitri like this is certainly not what he expected his teasing to accomplish, but the opportunity presented before him is too enticing. There’s a lot about Dimitri he’s dying to know, after all. In more ways than one.

“You sure you aren’t asking me out on a date? In a really vague and roundabout way?” Claude asks slowly, raising his eyebrows.

“I… well, um, _no,_ but,” Dimitri stammers. Sure, Claude is undeniably attractive. And he likes the way he accepts him on an equal level, teasing him and giving him stupid nicknames as if he was any other classmate. But he’s cunning, if not dangerously perceptive. One sharp glance and he can probably see past Dimitri’s friendly smile and expose the savageness lingering within him. And yet, if this is the man that can brush his fears away, comfort him while reliving his nightmares, then perhaps it’ll be for the better that he knows. Not now, but… later. When they can open up to each other.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I accept. I’ll go along with this… dream you have, Your Princeliness. No, how about… ‘Dima?’ Yeah, that’s a lot better than that mouthful of a nickname. I’m looking forward to this totally-not-a-date in the afternoon, Dima.”

 _Dima._ The way Claude’s lips and inflection rise with that name causes something in Dimitri's heart to flutter.

“Of course. See you later, Claude.”


End file.
